


it's time to try defying gravity

by bloodsparks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Codependency, Gen, Guilty Sam, Heavy Angst, John Winchester Being an Asshole, Pre-Stanford, Sam Winchester-centric, Sam-Centric, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-09 03:53:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12879621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodsparks/pseuds/bloodsparks
Summary: Pre-Stanford piece focusing on Sam. Inspired by the song 'Defying Gravity' from 'Wicked'.





	it's time to try defying gravity

**Author's Note:**

> this was so much fun to write, and i wrote way more than i originally expected ,,

_Why couldn't you have just stayed calm for once_  
_Instead of flying off the handle?_  
_I hope you're happy how you_  
_Hurt your cause forever!_  
_I hope you think you're clever!_

"God  _damn it_ , Sammy, what the hell do you think you're playing at?" Dean's voice was rough as he shouted into the phone. "What the fuck are you doing, going off on Dad like that? You knew he was in the middle of a job! Why did you do it?" 

Sam was silent on the other side of the line, his breathing still irregular and tense. He waited for Dean to finish, knowing there was no point interjecting and trying to explain himself before his brother was done expressing his anger and distaste. "You can't honestly be blaming the whole thing on me, Dean," he finally spat, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head even though he knew Dean couldn't see him. 

"Well, I am blaming the whole fucking thing on you, Sam!" Dean growled. "We wouldn't be in this goddamn mess if you'd just kept your mouth shut and done your part, like Dad told you!" 

"Isn't that your job?" Sam countered sharply, "You just go along with what he tells you - you don't even stop to think if it's the right thing to do." 

Dean scoffed. "You don't get to decide whether or not it's the right thing to do, that's my point! You don't even stop to think about everyone else involved in the situation, you just use whatever you can to pick a fight with Dad. The least you could do is admit, Sam, that the only thing that motivates you anymore is your petty arguments and your petty, stupid-"

Before he could continue, the line was dead. 

Dean swore under his breath and redialed.

It went to voicemail twice before Sam picked up. "What?" He snapped. 

"Look," Dean said, steel in his voice, "This doesn't have to be the way it is, Sammy. You don't - fucking hell, you don't have to be butting heads with Dad every waking minute, y'know? All he wants is you to learn what he's doing, to-" 

"To bend to his every whim and not have a single thought of my own," Sam finished for him, tone still curt. 

"You're putting words into his mouth," Dean argued. "Every time you wanted to start at a new school even though we were leaving in two weeks, Dad let you. Every time you wanted to spend time with your friends at the damn cinema, instead of studying lore, Dad let you. What more do you fucking want?" 

"To make my own choices, Dean!" Sam was exasperated. "Yes, he let me do all those things, but don't you get it? He  _let_ me. I don't want him to  _let_ me do anything, I want to do it because it's  _my_ choice!" 

Dean was silent for a full minute. When he spoke again, he sounded tired. Resigned. "None of your outbursts are going to help your case, you know that?" 

"What are you talking about?"

"You think I haven't seen the papers you keep stuffed at the bottom of your duffel? The papers, the high school transcripts, the emails you printed?" 

Sam's blood ran cold. Dean couldn't have been serious - he couldn't have seen those. Nobody was meant to see those. His mouth felt dry, and the words that left his mouth were more robotic than anything else. "I don't know what you're-"

"Fucking save it, Sam." 

 

* * *

  

 _I hope you're proud how you would_  
_Grovel in submission_  
_To feed your own ambition!_

"Is this all you want from life?" 

Dean looked up at Sam, squinting at the sunlight that fell in golden waves across Sam's fringe. "Whaddaya mean?" 

Sam gestured vaguely to the car they were leaning on; to the guns strewn across its hood and the beer in their hands. "This. Researching for days and weeks, throwing yourself into imminent dangers, barely getting out of there alive, and then leaving and starting again. Never having any lasting relationships or friendships. Is that really all you want to do for as long as you're alive?" 

"You know I'm a sucker for a good adrenaline rush," Dean winked. 

Sam flinched. He saw right through it, down to the empty look in Dean's eye and the uncertainty in his nod. He wished he either couldn't see it, or hadn't asked, because it hurt to see his older brother, his  _only_ brother, squeezing his own life into nothing in his desperate attempt to fit into the mould their father had cruelly set for them both. 

"Dean," Sam coaxed softly, scooting impossibly closer so he was leaning against Dean. "You can tell me. Dad's not here, it's just you and me." 

Though he was quiet for a long time, Dean eventually nodded. His Adam's apple bobbed nervously, and he looked just about eight years old. "I don't know, Sammy," he finally said in a voice Sam hadn't ever heard him use. "Sometimes I think, maybe I could... Maybe one day, when enough evil sons-of-bitches are dead, and I've... I've done enough good..." He laughed nervously, shaking his head like he couldn't believe what he was saying. "Maybe I'll find a hot chick and decide, 'This is it. I'm happy.'" 

Just as soon as the words left his mouth, Sam watched Dean's expression shift from hopeful to horrified. He stood straighter, cleared his throat. "But that's... That's about as likely as us ever hunting dragons and rescuing actual princesses from towers. It's not practical." 

Sam clenched his throat, silently fuming. He hated what their father had done to Dean, hated the thoughts he'd drilled into his head. "It doesn't have to be practical for you to want it, De."

As if Sam needed any more confirmation that the moment was ended and not coming back, Dean's sardonic laugh closed the door with a bang. "Yeah, right," he muttered, taking a drink of his beer. "There's gotta be one of us with our head down on Planet Earth." He whacked Sam's shoulder with a small smile. 

"It's not fair," Sam complained, looking away from his brother's face so he wouldn't have to look at the sadness in his smile. "It's not fair that Dad's made you think you have to be this- this  _soldier_. You're so much more than the damage you can do, Dean." 

Again, Dean is quiet. When he finally speaks, it's to tell Sam that he's going to put the guns away, and then they have to get a start on the drive. 

 

* * *

 

 _Something has changed within me_  
_Something is not the same_  
_I'm through with playing by the rules_  
_Of someone else's game_

Sam couldn't pinpoint the moment he decided to leave. If you asked him, he'd tell you that it was gradual. That it wasn't a solid decision, but rather something that built up over the years. He'd always wanted to pursue his education past college, he'd say. Since he was a kid, he knew that hunting wasn't the life for him. That he was made for a steady life, not one of constant peril. 

But really, if you sat him down with a stiff drink or three, you might find a different answer.

That night had been a particularly cold one, the air sharp and biting any uncovered skin it could find. Sam was curled up under scratchy blankets on an uncomfortable mattress, scanning through books he'd picked up while researching the case Dad had assigned to them. Dean was stripping their guns down, face scrunched up in concentration as he aimed to beat the time on the stopwatch beside him. They stayed in their places, frozen in their motions like figures in a snow globe, until Dean spoke up. 

"I'm sorry, Sammy," his voice was strained, like it was taking an enormous effort to say what he did. 

Sam barely looked up. "For what?"

Dean chuckled humourlessly. "Too many things. But now, for that time you got Dad mad and I- that time I yelled at you. On the phone." 

This perked Sam's attention. That had been a big fight, and Dean hardly ever mentioned big fights, let alone apologised for them. "Really," Sam deadpanned, shutting his book and sitting up straight. "You're... Sorry for that." 

"Why do you sound like you're makin' fun of me?"

"I'm not!" Sam's eyebrows raised in defence, and he shook his head. "It's just- I didn't expect it. But thank you. I mean, you're forgiven. I forgive you." 

Dean's chest slumped as he sighed in what seemed to be relief. "Thanks." He hesitated, looking straight at Sam with worried eyes. "You're not... Those papers and college stuff I found, they're not real, right? You're not actually, leaving, are you? It's just a joke, right? It's not-"

"Dean," Sam cut his mumbling off gently. "It's... They're real."

The silence in the air was so thick it seemed to be dripping down the walls, suffocating them in wicked heat even though it was below freezing in reality. Dean held Sam's guilty gaze for a full minute before nodding. His jaw was clenched, and when he went back to working the weapons, his actions were jagged and callous. Sam had seen Dean angry plenty of times, and though there was palpable rage in his actions, Sam had never been so unnerved at how much it looked like Dean wasn't angry, but  _scared_. He wondered what was going through his mind, but he eventually decided he'd rather not know.

 

* * *

 

 _Too late for second-guessing_  
_Too late to go back to sleep_  
_It's time to trust my instincts  
_ _Close my eyes and leap!_

Two weeks after the fight, after Dean found the papers, Sam submitted them. 

His handwriting was terrible because his hands wouldn't stop shaking; he got the mailing address wrong twice and had to buy new envelopes; and he deleted all the files on his laptop after e-mailing the documents out of fear that either Dean or their Dad - or, god forbid, both - would accidentally stumble upon the application while trying to use the Internet. 

All of those things faded away in the absolute joy and solace that came to him the moment everything was done. For days and weeks and months he'd slept restlessly, tossing and turning and feeling his body shake at the knowledge of the papers stuffed into the bottom of his duffel. He'd read the Stanford application guidelines so many times he had the terms and conditions memorised, and often he fell asleep with his high-school transcripts close by as he read and reread them, making sure he had every letter from every school he'd been to. All in all, he had more than the necessary credits needed for a basic degree, but they were split into tens of letters and certificates from having travelled and moved around the country so much. 

It was as if a weight had been lifted from the centre of his chest, and along with it had gone every worrying thought that had wormed its way into his head. Sam felt lightheaded, as if he'd taken a step out into the fresh air after having been cooped up for too long. In a way, he supposed he had. 

 

* * *

 

 _It's time to try_  
_Defying gravity_  
_I think I'll try_  
_Defying gravity  
_ _And you can't pull me down!_

The acceptance letter came via e-mail, obviously, as Sam didn't have a permanent address to list down, and though they were usually in the same town for about a month or so, he had no way of knowing when the acceptance letter would come if it did. Besides Dad or Dean finding out, the last thing he wanted was for the letter to be mailed to the motel they'd stayed at just as they were leaving for the next state over. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was there, waiting ominously in his inbox when he opened his account to send Dean some files he'd hacked into about bizarre and uncalled for disappearances on the Texas-Louisiana border. Sam nearly dropped the mug of coffee in his free hand as he saw the subject of the mail. 

'Congratulations, it is with great pleasure that I offer you admission to the Stanford University Class of 2005..." Sam read quietly under his breath, briefly glancing over his shoulder to find the room still empty. Dad was out for the morning, and Dean was no doubt still at the place of the chick he'd gone home with the night before. 

Sam exhaled a shaky sigh, scanning through the details and repeatedly looking at his name. "Sam Winchester, placing at Stanford Pre-Law." It sounded like a dream, something not even close to any possible plane of reality. 

"Excuse me?" 

Sam whirled around to find his Dad standing a couple feet behind him, hand still on the doorknob. "Dad," he said, clearly surprised. He turned around to close the tab and shut the laptop screen, but before he could, John had barged over and was grabbing the computer from his grasp. "Dad, no!" Sam yelled, terrified and reaching for the device. He'd smash it on the ground before he let his father read the words on its screen. 

But it was too late. John had seen enough, and slammed the laptop on the table. "What the hell was that, Sam?" He asked, voice deadly silent.

"Nothing," Sam was quick to lie. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest he thought it might leap out at any moment. "Just a prank, for, uh. For Dean." 

By the expression on his face, Sam could tell his Dad didn't believe a word of it. "How long have you been doing this?" 

"The prank?" Sam squeaked, "Just maybe, like, a week or two? I thought it would be funny to mess with Dean, you know, since he's always messing with me and trying to start prank wars." He was blurting words nervously, aiming in the dark. 

"I gave you everything you asked for, Sam," Dad's speech was slow, slightly slurred, even. But he wasn't drunk. "I took care of you, and I got you things you didn't need. I took you places you asked to go. You wanted to go to school, even though we wouldn't be in the area long, and I let you."

At this point, Sam couldn't help the anger beginning to bubble in his veins. "You told me the only way I could go was if Dean kept a close eye on me, and I had to keep a knife on the inside of my bag," he said through clenched teeth. 

"I was keeping you safe." The venom in Dad's voice was unmistakeable. "You know the things I hunt, you know the things we come across. You think I was just gonna let you run off to some school in the middle of nowhere with no protection? With no way of knowing how to defend yourself?" 

"I was twelve, Dad! The only thing I should've been defending myself against were bullies! I should've been coming back from school to hang out with friends, not go to the woods for weapons training! That isn't protection, it's suffocation!" 

John's expression shifted to something more composed, though Sam could see through the mask to the quiet rage simmering inside. "Don't give me that shit. You hung out with your friends, you went to birthday parties and arcades after school."

"I went to one birthday party, Dad, when I was eight. And I don't know what your idea of a good time is, but it isn't sitting by the door and staying on the phone with either you or Dean relaying bits of lore and myth to you while all my friends got to play."

Scoffing, Dad shook his head. "Look at you, whining like a little bitch. Boo-fucking-hoo, you didn't get to have your turn on the playground. Just for that, you- what? Run off first chance you get? From this family?" 

Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What?" His mouth was open, yet he couldn't even begin to formulate the words to say.

"I expected so much more from you, Sam," Dad's voice was resigned now, like he was writing the final goodbye on an e-mail and hitting 'send'.

"You think I'm leaving just because of some petty things that happened five, six years ago?" 

"It sure sounds like it, don't you think? That's all I'm hearing from you," Dad shrugged, his stare hard.

"No! I'm leaving because there's no place for me here," Sam spat, taking a step toward his Dad. "I'm leaving because me and Dean? We're not your kids, we're your _trainees_. Your _apprentices_ , meant to continue the job  _you_ decided to start. I'm leaving because that's not the life I want, and I'm leaving because I refuse to let you choose the road I'm going on." When he finished, his chest was heaving and his breathing was so rapid he had to take a moment to calm himself down. He felt lightheaded. 

John's stare never once wavered, and when his eyes left Sam's, they had lost all expression. "If you go," he said, voice stiff as steel, "Don't come back." 

 

* * *

 

 _Can't I make you understand?  
_ _You're_ _having delusions of grandeur!_

Dean was absolutely furious when he found out - but not for the reason Sam had expected.

At first, Sam honestly wasn't sure who Dean was more angry at, him or Dad, but he was certain there was plenty of Dean's frustration to go around. 

"You're both so childish!" Dean was ranting, pacing the length of the motel room. "I mean, Dad had no right to look at what you were doing, but for you to yell at him like that when he was already stressed to begin with? That's so stupid of you, Sam!" 

Rolling his eyes, Sam took his eyes away from where he was scanning the sides of his laptop for any damage to its exterior after being handled roughly earlier. "We're not having this fight again, Dean. I won't apologise for standing up for myself." 

"Standing up for yourself isn't the point, though, is it? You're just aching for a fight with him. Hell, given the chance, you'd pick a fight with him about everything. It's so hard for you to go along with anything he says, just because it's him saying it," Dean argued. 

Sam hated that he had a point. He stayed silent, fixing his gaze back onto his laptop. 

"What even was Dad so pissed off about?" Dean asked after taking a long drink from the bottle of Scotch on the table.

"Nothing," Sam winced. He'd already dealt with enough that day, and a lecture from Dean wasn't something he needed. 

"Sam, please," Dean's voice was a caution not to test him further. 

Turning to look at Dean, Sam figured he might as well just drop the bomb without any delay or attempt to lighten the situation through bad humour. "He found my acceptance letter. On my e-mail." 

"Dad was reading your e-mail?" Dean was obviously confused; their father was not one to snoop around unnecessarily. 

Sam shook his head. "No, I was... I was reading it, I'd just opened it. It was my fault, I didn't expect him to come in, and I should've been quiet about it." Though the words were an explanation to his brother, Sam felt like he was talking to himself about it. Relaying his version of the story to himself, even though he'd seen it firsthand. It still didn't feel quite real enough. 

It was only when Dean was sure John hadn't been doing anything he wasn't supposed to around Sam that he jumped onto the next most important detail. "And... You were reading an acceptance letter?" In a half-hearted attempt at a joke, Dean snorted. "To what, the local nerd club?" 

"Funny," Sam remarked. He didn't dare look Dean in the eye, scared of finding the haunting emptiness he'd caught a glimpse of those few weeks ago. "It was for Stanford. Uh, Pre-Law." 

The silence that followed was unpleasant, but not in the way Sam had expected. He knew Dean wouldn't explode like Dad had, but he could sense his anger at the situation - and at him. Dean sat on one of the chairs in the kitchen. He took two more swigs of the Scotch, and then slammed it onto the kitchen counter, like he wanted to break it but couldn't bring himself to. 

"When do classes start?" Dean's voice was rough, all jagged edges and raw emotion. 

Sam was surprised. He hadn't expected that, of all questions. "Uh, it's... I'm in the April intake."

Dean did the math; Sam could see it from the look on his face as he realised that April was in three months. "Right," Dean said, and then he was taking his jacket and keys, and he was out of the room. 

Watching the door swing shut felt like a method of torture in itself. 

When Dean came back that night, at half-past two and stinking of cigarette smoke and booze, Sam watched from his bed as he fell into bed still fully dressed without even kicking off his shoes. Sam rolled his eyes fondly, taking in the warmth of his bed one last time before pushing his sheets aside and shuffling to the motel room's kitchen for a glass of water and the aspirin in his backpack. 

He set the water on the bedside table between their beds and knelt beside Dean's bed. "Dean," he murmured, sleep evident in his voice, "Dean, c'mon, wake up and drink this or you're gonna have a fucking migraine all of tomorrow." 

Dean wasn't responsive for all of another five minutes, which was considerably good when Sam considered similar moments in the past. Eventually, he rolled over and groaned from Sam's constant prodding. 

"Dean, aspirin," Sam chuckled, shaking his head. "C'mon."

"'M awake, 'm awake, shut up," Dean grumbled, half-sitting up and gulping down the water and the medicine.

As soon as he was done, Sam scrambled off the cold floor and back into his bed. He'd just pulled the covers back around him when he heard a small 'thanks' from the bed beside his. "Mhm," he replied, ready to go back to sleep. 

Sam was just beginning to drift off once more when there was another sound from Dean. He rolled over, squinting through the darkness. "Dean? D'you say something?" 

"Why are you going?" In his intoxicated, sleepy state, Dean sounded like a child. 

"Wha-  _Where_ am I going?" Sam repeated, not quite able to hear properly.

" _Why_ ," Dean repeated in a whine, " _why_ are you going?" 

Sam wasn't sure if it was Dean's idea of a joke, but after a prolonged silence, he assumed that it wasn't. "I'm going because... This isn't for me, this... " Sam stopped short. He wasn't sure what to say. He knew the reasons why he was going; he could recite them by heart. But suddenly he wasn't so sure if he was ready to leave. He didn't want the life anymore, that was for sure, and he wouldn't miss the tyrannical attitude of their Dad. But there was something in the way of him cutting the cord between the aspect of his soon-to-be old life that was his relationship with Dean. 

"We can't have this conversation now, Dean," Sam started to say, but the soft sounds of his snores were already beginning to fill the room. 

 

* * *

 

 _I'm through accepting limits_  
_cause someone says they're so_  
_Some things I cannot change  
_ _But till I try, I'll never know!_

The excitement seeped in somewhere in the following week. Sam began to allow himself to daydream - something he usually wasn't fond of - in the hours spent at the library or tearing through online lore. As his eyes mindlessly scanned through reading material, his mind drifted and he pictured freedom. 

He imagined himself sitting in a classroom, focused on the lesson and not the clock ticking. Making friends without having to be overly cautious as to whether or not they're the very thing his family kills. Going to parties and not having to be back at the nearest shady motel by a certain time. He envisioned himself building friendships made to last, and perhaps even finding someone to be interested in for more than a month or two. 

It gave him a headache, how much he could conjure up in his mind. The roads that lay open to him were endless, and it was dizzying to think of the world he could explore without having to line the doors and windows with salt; without having to constantly be on edge. It was going to be an incredible adventure, and Sam couldn't for the life of him wait. 

There was a tiny part of him that was scared, but he told himself it was only natural. He was quick to adapt to his surroundings, and it wouldn't be a problem to mimic the behaviour of his classmates. The real challenge was going to be to unlearn all he'd been taught from young. But Sam was determined that he was going to go on to live a normal life, because he deserved it. He was going to make it work. 

 

* * *

 

 _Too long I've been afraid of_  
_Losing love I guess I've lost!_  
_Well, if that's love  
_ _It comes at much too high a cost!_

John never apologised. 

It wasn't something Sam was expecting - he knew their Dad was too much of an egoistic maniac for that, but he figured there'd eventually be some sort of comforting, reassuring gesture that everything he'd said had been a little too over the top. That, maybe Sam could take some time off and come back in a couple years, see how he felt about leaving their chaotic life and attempting a sweet, apple-pie one. 

But though he waited, there was nothing. John didn't break, not even after a week, then two, then a month. He was rarely around anymore, being so caught up in following the meagre trail the demon was leaving for him. The clues were minuscule, and yet he seemed to value them more than his own children. Sam couldn't for the life of him understand it, and he was admittedly too bitter to try. 

Once, Sam approached their Dad when he was in the room to collect the lore they'd been working on. Sam called to him, tried getting him to talk about the fight they'd had. He said everything he hoped would provoke a reaction, going from apologising briefly to finally threatening to cut every and all ties from them forever, but all John replied with was a curt, "Good." 

That night, Sam cried. He tried shoving Dean out of their shared room, and when it didn't work, he called the front desk and told them he was going to stay in the room next door. Dean protested, apologised, and even offered to go out for the night so Sam would have the room for himself. 

"Leave it," Sam hissed, trying to keep from breaking down right there and then. "I'm gonna have to get used to being by myself, aren't I?" 

Dean helped move Sam's things, but only after making him promise that he was only going to be away for a night. "I know you need your space, Sammy, and I know- fuck, I know Dad's being a dick, but please: don't shut me out." 

Sam nodded, eyes cast to the floor. He didn't trust his emotions to stay at bay if he were to look and see the miserable expression on his brother's face. "M'kay," he mumbled, and then shut the door. As he curled up in bed, he put his headphones on and pretended not to hear Dean punching the wall in the other room. 

 

* * *

 

 _I'd sooner buy_  
_Defying gravity  
_ _Kiss me goodbye  
_ _I'm defying gravity  
_ _And you can't pull me down!_

The packing calmed Sam down greatly, especially when nothing else did. 

He took the time to fold his clothes, even the ones he knew he'd need to wear, and would unfold and fold again. He restocked on spare shoelaces and battery chargers that he figured he'd need, and on notebooks and stationery he'd liked but never had a reason to buy before.

And he made lists - tons of them. He made lists of the clothes he had, so he wouldn't lose any.  _6 basic tees, 3 jackets (need more for winter!), 2 pairs of shoes (need slippers?)_. He made lists of the foods he liked, so he'd know what to buy and store in his dorm when it would be exam season and he wouldn't want to leave his room.  _Korean instant noodles (with veg), instant coffee, check for readymade salads, pasta + soup._ He made lists of the sundry items he'd need to buy for housekeeping.  _Air freshener, mugs, blanket, soaps, cleaning kit, batteries..._

It was strangely therapeutic, so much so that Sam frequently lost himself in it to the point of being unaware when Dean was going to be in and out of the motel room. He didn't think much of it at first, because Dean had found a small salt-n'-burn that Dad had agreed to let him handle, and he was excited for his first job. Sam, on the other hand, was wary and often checked for bruises or wounds on his brother's body whenever he could. 

The sting of the situation was sharp, because a scary thought frequently visited Sam's mind: that, when he was gone, who was going to do that for Dean? 

It forced him to think, even though the last thing he wanted to do was entertain any of the thoughts that strained against his will to leave. He had confirmed his attendance for the April Intake at Stanford, and he had ruined the last of whatever relationship he'd had with his father - he'd be a fucking idiot to not leave now. And yet, still, in the corner of his mind, were the thoughts that shook and trembled in rebellion against the way things were shaping up to be. 

 

* * *

 

 _Come with me.  
Think of what we could _ _do, together_

Sam worked up the nerve to ask over the weekend, while Dean was partying and sleeping on repeat. He listed down the reasons to back up his proposition, and thought of all the things Dean could possibly say in response to everything he was planning to say. Sam even wrote down some of his ideas, he was that desperate. 

  
  
_Together we're unlimited_  
_Together we'll be the greatest team_  
_There's ever been!_

He asked, properly asked, when Dean came back to the motel the night after he completed his second job. It was a strategic move, because Dean was bound to be in a good mood. Besides, Sam was getting restless with the prospect of what he was about to do buzzing in his system. He needed to get it out, and soon, before something unforeseen happened and his delicate plans went up in smoke. 

"Dean," Sam blurted before he could talk himself out of doing it. 

"Yeah?" Dean turned around from where he was headed to the bathroom, doing something on his phone. "Something happen? Let me guess - you're making another list." 

Sam rolled his eyes. "No, I, uh. I wanted to ask you something." 

Dean seemed to sense Sam's hesitation as he dropped the joking demeanour and sobered up. He looked as if he was preparing himself not to flinch. Like he was ready for whatever he was going to hear to hurt. It broke Sam's heart and steadied the words in his throat. 

"Would you even consider... Maybe, for just a while, even, just for a little bit, coming with me?" 

As expected, the moment the words were out of his mouth, Dean was shaking his head and backing away. "What the  _fuck_ , Sam?" Dean growled, squinting as he took a step back. " _Why_ would you even- What the fuck's going through your head?" 

Sam understood the confusion and hurt in his voice. For the most part, after the first outburst, Dean had been placid about Sam deciding to leave for college. He hadn't made any fusses, hadn't chimed in whenever Dad made a snide remark about Sam, and had even, on several occasions, defended him. He'd accompanied Sam on trips to the store for things on his many checklists, and though Dean was quiet when the burning topic came up, he wasn't spiteful about it. 

Understandably, it was wild and inconsiderate of Sam to be asking what he was. Dean had done his best to support Sam's selfish decision, and here Sam was, throwing a curveball to them both and rocking the fragile foundation their world as they knew it stood on. Sam knew all those things, he did. But he knew that he wanted Dean with him even more than all of them combined. 

 

 _Dreams, the way we planned 'em_  
_If we work in tandem  
__There's no fight we cannot win_

"Go on," Dean's voice was shaking just a little. "Explain." 

Sam nodded, lips pursed. "I know it sounds crazy, and it's coming out of nowhere, but you could come with me, Dean!" He stood as he spoke, holding his arms out in front of him to show he just needed some space to clarify what he meant. "Think about it. You could still hunt if you wanted, but just in the area. I'd be at school, but nothing would have to change much for you!" 

"Oh _sure_ , I'm sure I'll have no problem doing odd jobs and hosting barbecues on my picket fence lawn," Dean scoffed, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"Dean, listen to me," Sam pleaded, "We can make it work." 

"No, _you_ fucking listen to  _me_. I've been nothing but supportive of your choices, Sammy, you know that? I hate it, I fucking hate it that you're just going to pack up and leave and erase everything you've grown up knowing, but I'm dealing with it. I'm dealing with it and I'm doing my job, and it's really goddamn selfish for you to waltz in now and decide that you leaving isn't enough - you need to shake things up with me, too." Dean's voice was suddenly steel as he yelled, every hidden emotion receiving more than enough screen time. 

Sam felt tears well in his eyes as he listened not only to the words coming from Dean's mouth, but the emotions spilling from his chest. It was so painfully raw, and Sam had never felt as guilty as he did in that moment. 

Every argument he'd planned, every sentence he'd written and schemed, it all disappeared into nothing as they stood in front of one another, both breathing hard and saying nothing more until Sam broke the silence. 

"I don't want to leave you behind," he admitted, the words feeling like ten-tonne weights crashing onto the floor. "I can't wait to get away from Dad, and from this nomadic mess of a childhood and a life, but I don't think I can leave  _you_." 

"But you will." 

Sam shook his head. "I won't have to if you come with me." 

"But I won't."

 

* * *

 

 _I hope you're happy_  
_Now that you're choosing this_

The months went by faster than either of them had expected, and before Sam knew it, the last week of March was upon him. 

John was mostly gone by then, investing his everything into the wild goose chase to find the thing that had thrown their family into chaos. Sam hardly minded; he wasn't speaking to Dad anyway, but it made Dean restless. Sam felt bad - he really did - but not bad enough to cancel out on the thing he'd been dreaming of for the longest time.

So, he did what he could do best; researched cases complex enough to pique Dean's interest but simple enough to keep him safe; nursed his hangovers and endured Dean's questionable music taste; drove around even more than before; tried things they'd never dared to before; played pranks on one another. 

It was all good fun, but every night the melancholy weighed deeply on them both. It felt too much like a bucket list being ticked off frantically as time ran out. And time _was_ running out.

 

 _You too_  
_I hope it brings you bliss_

Saying goodbye is strange, Sam decided. No matter how many times it's been said, no matter how many times it's been practiced, it's still terrible. 

His things were packed and in the trunk of a car he bought using one of Dean's many credit cards. John, though obviously unhappy about it, stood beside Dean. Sam tried meeting his eyes, but his Dad wasn't having it, and wouldn't look directly at him. Dean was shuffling where he stood, jaw clenched and fists curled at his sides.

"So, this is it, huh," Dean finally spoke up after a few more moments of silence. "This is the part of the movie where you ride into the sunset." 

Sam snorted, lazily punching Dean's arm. "Shut up," he murmured, but it didn't sound quite right. 

John cleared his throat, and though Dean looked irritated, he didn't say anything. As usual, Sam thought. It was one of the reasons why he was leaving - he couldn't take another day of Dad's emotional manipulation and Dean's lack of a backbone. But he wasn't going to dwell on those thoughts and feelings now; he'd have plenty of time to think of them during the long drive and even longer subsequent bus ride. 

"What time does the bus come?" John's voice was calm but venomous. 

"Dad," Dean warned, his voice strained. "Don't."

Sam checked his watch and swallowed nervously, looking at his Dad's feet. "It's... It gets there in two hours."

"You should get going, then," John all but sneered. "The drive'll take one and forty-five minutes."

Ignoring their Dad, Dean stepped forward and wrapped his arms tight around Sam. It was an emotional hug, the kind they shared after particularly harrowing hunts and fights, to let one another know they were okay, and they were going to continue to be okay. But this time, even as Sam returned the affectionate gesture, he wasn't sure if things would bounce back this time. 

 

 _I really hope you get it_  
_And you don't live to regret it_

"Stay safe, alright, Dean?"

"Aren't I supposed to be saying that to you? Don't party too hard, cowboy."

"Yeah, right. I'm not you." 

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

 

 _I hope you're happy in the end_  
_I hope you're happy, my friend._

As Sam drove away, he kept his eyes on the rearview mirror, watching Dean get smaller and smaller until all he could see was the shimmer of the Impala in the far distance behind him. 

Allowing himself to wallow in the moment, Sam kept his hands on the wheel and let his mind drift. He hoped that someday Dad would forgive him, but he realised that even if it didn't - he could live with it. He was grateful that he'd always had a roof over his head and food to eat, but when he really thought about it, he owed most of his survival to Dean having looked after him. Not John.

There was still something unsettling in the pit of his stomach: something that raged at the thought of leaving Dean alone with John, to be subjected to his totalitarian beliefs and practices. Dean wouldn't stand up for himself, Sam knew it, and without him there, it wouldn't be any better. 

Sam forced himself to clear the cache of unresolved emotions. He'd asked Dean to come with him, and he'd tried to persuade him, but Dean had been adamant about staying. Even that, Sam realised, wasn't Dean's fault. He'd been taught to think that he wasn't good at anything but hunting, having been pulled out of school to focus on looking after Sam and learning the tools of the trade from their Dad. He'd been shuffled around and dragged across the country before he'd had the chance to build any lasting relationships besides that of him and Sam. And what was his reward? To be saddled and unsaddled like a mule just to follow along with John's manic goose chase. 

It angered Sam greatly, and he promised himself that he'd check up on Dean every once in a while, if his brother wasn't too upset to reply. God, Sam hoped Dean wouldn't be too upset to reply. He didn't know what he'd do if he was forced to lose his family entirely just to go after what he wanted to have. 

 

* * *

 

 

 _So if you care to find me_  
_Look to the western sky!_

The sun was beginning to set as Sam boarded the bus. Dad had been wrong about the timing. The drive had taken two hours and fifteen minutes due to an accident along the highway, and by the time the next bus arrived, it was already half-past four. It wasn't a big deal, of course, but Sam was glad John wasn't around to be smug about it. 

He settled in his seat, peering out the window and idly watching other passengers board. His things, in their few boxes and bags, were stowed beneath his seat, and now all there was to do was enjoy the journey and look to the horizon for what was to come. 

Sam fell asleep embarrassingly fast. He was sleepy from the drive and tired from the onslaught of emotions that had ravaged his mind for the past couple of days, and the soft hum of the bus' wheels and engine lulled him quickly into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

It had just turned eight o'clock when he woke again. He rubbed his eyes and yawned as he stared out the window to the wide desert that surrounded them. Stretching, he tried to squint and see through the darkness, but the only light source he could find were the thousands of stars above. With a small smile, Sam kept his eyes on the heavens and said a silent prayer. A silent thanks. 

He'd made it out despite the odds being stacks against him, despite the discouragement from Dad and the guilt he felt at leaving Dean behind. He'd finished his secondary education, despite having been shoved left and right all over the map, despite the relationships he'd been forced to make and break at the blink of an eye. He'd successfully submitted his application, and he'd been formally accepted.

Sam almost couldn't believe it, he was so fucking happy. The weight on his chest had been lifted, and though it had left a hole torn savagely open, Sam had absolute faith he was going to be able to fill it with friendships and knowledge and the privilege of building a stable life. 

 

* * *

 

 

 _And if I'm flying solo_  
_At least I'm flying free_  
_I'm flying high_  
_Defying gravity_

Sam was scheduled to switch buses twice on his route to California. The first change went without a hitch, but there were complications on the second that left him spending a night at the exchange station, resting on his bag and awkwardly splayed across his cardboard box to ensure nothing would go missing. He didn't sleep much, and ended up reading a crime fiction novel he picked up at a dollar store along with some food. Half an hour before boarding the final bus that would take him to his destination, he freshened up in the bathroom. 

 

There wasn't a long line of people queueing to board the bus, and Sam got on in no time. He settled for a seat in the middle, storing his things before getting comfortable with his mp3 player. At first, he leaned toward his usual list of mellow music, but after some consideration, he went for something upbeat.

It was a day for celebration; he'd finally found his wings.

 

 

 


End file.
